


Lion of Twelve

by Mocking



Series: District Twelve is only allowed one Victor every other decade. [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mentor Feelings, Other, Victors Have Issues, Victory Tour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mocking/pseuds/Mocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Issac Michael has won the Hunger Games. He played them the right way, the way the Capitol expects. Pity that it matters very little how you play them. Even worse getting saddled with a mentor that is utterly unreadable and clueless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lion of Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issac works out too much and hides under too many beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for the twenty people that hit the first installment and so how abrupt and awful the writting is, I am terrible sorry. Maybe someday I will edit it.
> 
> Until then, I give you the after Games in the life of Issac.

Issac wakes up when Peacekeeper Lynn throws a pillow at him. He rolls out from under the bed and looks up at her. Her stern face is unimpressed. “This has to stop.”

Issac merely cocks an eyebrow and wiggles out the rest of the way to his feet. Peacekeeper Lynn shoves him toward the kitchen. Issac slings an arm around Kaitlyn who wags a menacing finger at him. Menacing for a fourteen year old. Her blonde ringlets bounce as she slips away to tease the littlest kids into eating food.

Issac slides into an open stool and is immediately handed a toddler. He’s freshly bathed but very unhappy about it. Issac starts trying to tempt the grumpy face with food.

The first two weeks after the games, Issac spent every night with Abernathy. But he snuck out before the man could wake up. He read every book in both their houses. Or more accurately skimmed every book. He had no idea there were so many books in the world. He needs to find a talent, something Capitol approved.

He has no idea what it would be though, his skills are more... practical.

The kids finally rush out to go to school.

Issac tarries as long as he could. Peacekeeper Lynn lets him help clean up but shoos him out afterward. Issac wanders down the road, frowning at the ground. It's the first parcel day tomorrow. The food and extra supplies he has won for his District at the price of just ten lives. Twenty-three, a small part of him whispers, Twenty-three lives.

Lean Dexus nods at him as he passes. The new Head Peacekeeper occasionally finds time to drag him into the station where he shoves protein shakes at him and tries to teach him chess. Issac is terrible at it.

There has been an increase of whippings but no one has been hung, yet. From what Issac can tell, Dexus seems to be taking it easy. He is cracking down, but nothing that was not enforced before. It is not like the post-Abernathy years. But then again, Issac’s games were not of the inspirational variety. He killed a bunch of kids. No real message there, outside of all of us are monsters on the inside.

Issac lets his feet take him where they will. He walks the edges of the fence and keeps glancing beyond it. He used to be so convinced that the edges of Twelve were placed for a reason. Now it feels like they are pinning him in. He spent nearly two weeks trying to find the edges of a new place and now they have sent him right back to the old one.

His path finally takes him back to the entrance of Victor’s Village. The two Peacekeepers, who Issac is fairly sure are newly installed to keep track of Abernathy, as none of them have bothered trying to get him to stay in the VIllage. Issac tosses them a lazy wave and they nod back.

He walks into his assigned house and moves around the place like a particularly rude guest. He throws his clothes on the couch and heads down to the basement in just his wool pants. There’s several punching bags and a host of other exercise equipment carefully set up. He starts his circuit around the room after turning on the Capitol approved programing. Buzz about his games is already dying out. Though it did spark a cat faze and apparently lead to a huge up spike in people adopting strays. 

Issac considers making cat breeding his talent. But the hit on the local squirrel and pigeon population, a population that feeds more than a few families, seems a bit like a terrible plan. Of course, if he could train them as hunters, it's possible he could actually help a few local families. It would not be too horrible if the Home had a built in squirrel fetcher.

By the time his arms are a shaking mess and the muscles in his thighs are twitching, Issac has managed to convince himself that this is, in fact, a great plan. He staggers upstairs and grabs a protein shake from the fridge. He downs it as he picks up the phone and hits the zero key before waiting as the neutral music of holding fills his ear.

“This is Trish, what is the purpose of this call?” ‘Trish’ has a pleasant voice that still manages to make Issac want to strangle her with the phone cord. It is not her fault. It is simply the knowledge that every time he tries to call someone, he has to spend time talking to her to make sure it is a needed and legitimate call.

“Hi, Issac Michael here. I’m trying to get ahold of Caesar Flickerman? I wanted to run a few things by him?” Issac does not call Caesar often. However if you discount Peacekeeper Lynn throwing pillows at him, he is probably the man that Issac talks to the most.

He still is not sure why or how that happened. But sometime between the Hospital and Caesar calling during the ass crack of dawn to check on something that Issac was pretty sure was Abernathy’s job, he started to think of the older man as a friend. Partly because Caesar has yet to give him bad advice.

He fucked-up his own face, all by himself. Caesar had merely giving him a warning and Issac had acted on it.

“Are you aware of the current time in the Capitol?” Trish asked.

“It is approximately forty minutes before Caesar’s morning show starts. He is planning on talking about the first parcel day for Twelve in ten years.” Issac says.

“How do you- nevermind. The topic of conversation?” Trish asked.

“Cats.”

“...” Trish waited for a long minute for Issac to elaborate. “Excuse me?”

“Cats. I need to talk to him about cats. It's not like the entire call is not being recorded.” Issac snapped. Why did they make him do this every fucking time?

“I need a better reason to connect your call, Mr. Michael.” Trish’s voice had gone flat.

Issac rolled his eyes. “I will discussing the viability and enjoyment of the Capitol if I took up cat breeding as a Talent. Or possibly cat training. I don’t know, that’s why I need to talk to Caesar.”

Trish is silent and Issac knows better than to interrupt. No doubt she’s typing or calling someone or doing something that interrupting would lead to even longer conversations. And more waiting.

Issac pulls a bottle of juice out of the fridge and starts flipping through a catalog of catalogs. It is a yearly publication full of all the various business that are allowed to ship between the Districts and some that had paid enough to get a small ad. There is also a full page spread with Brutus of Two drinking beer made in Two while shirtless and climbing up a cliff.

He has so far only ordered catalogs from Capital based business and the three from Twelve. He was surprised to realize that they were Horne’s Clothier, Newman’s brew, and The Mellark Bakery. He has no idea what the fuck everyone else thinks Twelve is, but he understands their confusion if that is their listings.

“Connecting you through, Mr. Michael.” Trish said finally.

Issac perked up and waited for the music to start up and then cut off again.

“Mr. Flickerman’s office, Janel speaking.” Janel was a new twist. Normally Issac was put through to Flickerman’s private residence where the man himself picked up.

Issac frowned. “This is Issac Michael. I was hoping to speak to Caesar.”

“I am sorry, but Mr. Flickerman is busy with other things at the moment. Would you like me to tell him you called?” Janel asked, false cheer heavy in her voice.

“Sure. Tell him-”

A harsh empty tone filled the line. 

Issac places the receiver gently back in the cadle. There was no point getting mad at the Capitol. The Capitol just was and everyone else had to deal with it. He turns back and starts going through the catalog before giving up and hunting through the included library to try to find something on animal husbandry.

He wanders around for a bit before hitting zero on the phone again. “Hey, Trish, I was wondering-”

“I’m sorry. This is agent Paul. Trish’s shift has already been completed.” A masculine voice breaks in.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Issac leans back against the wall. “For some reason I thought it was just her and a couple clones.” He laughs. “I actually just wanted to get in touch with someone who could answer some questions about cat breeds.”

“... You want to talk to someone about cats.” Paul said.

“I know. Bit on the nose but I was hoping there was a society of domestic felines or maybe a gene lab?” Issac laughs again. “I’m not looking for muttations, doubt anyone would give me one. I just want a really smart cat. One that is actually trainable, not one that just shits in a box and shreds my clothes.”

Paul hums. “Hang on one moment, Lion.”

Issac coughs. “What?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s just... I’m kinda a fan. I helped sponsor you after that rattlesnake move. It was so cool that you-”

Issac listens with a grimace, slowly sinking down the wall as this man-boy-idiot talks about the sheer excitement. He ends up on the ground, phone still pressed to his ear while he tries to shove his forehead through the floor. Paul stops talking and the music comes back. He manages to gather enough of his faculties together to mumble back a response when a cheery, old lady voice greets him from the other end.

“This is the Cat Fanciers of Panam, main office. Vivian Spencer speaking.”

“Hey. I’m Issac. I was wondering if you could answer some questions?” Issac’s chest is tight.

“Are you alright, young man?” Vivian asked.

Issac pulled himself together. Faking everything and focusing hard on keeping his voice smooth. “Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Spencer. I was wondering if you would be willing to talk about cats with me.”

What followed was probably one of the more bizarre conversations Issac has ever been present for. It included them talking about things Issac would never have considered about choosing the ‘right cat breed’ for him. She finally asked if he would be available to come in to see one of their shows.

“I’d need to run it by Victor’s Affairs.” Issac mumbles. “I’m not sure about the rules around me going into the Capitol.”

There was a long silence. A weird sound filled the line and it took Issac a minute to realise it was heavy breathing. “Who are you again?”

“Issac Michael?” Issac hesitated. “The Lion?”

The line went dead.

Issac slowly removed it from his ear and stared at it, uncomprehending. He had absolutely no idea what that was all about. But he did not like it at all. He fished a bottle of... Caesar called it Soylent and for some reason felt the need to assure him there was no human parts included in the ingredient list. But it was supposably everything Issac needed in a day if he drank enough of them. He carried the bottle with him to the living room and flicked on the TV.

He flipped through channels idly until he hit upon a fashion show. Where no one appeared to be wearing actual clothes, but rather skimpy fur bits that covered, maybe, the important bits. He really hoped that no one tried to dress Twelve tributes in something like that.

A sudden thought had him bolting up and hurrying over to Abernathy’s house. Still just in his pants, a thought he only becomes aware enough to regret moments before the other man opens the door.

Abernathy looks him up and down, a bottle of something in his hands and looking like he has not bothered to bath in days. “Putting on weight?”

Issac flushes and glares. “I need to talk to you? Are you correctly intoxicated or shall I come back at a better time?”

Abernathy glares right back. “Get in here.”

Issac pushes past him and heads right for the pile of clothes piled on one of the couches. He allows himself to burrow in a bit and snag a shirt to pull over his shoulders. It's blue and too long in the arms and too big everywhere else, but he just huddles in it and spends several long seconds staring at the ceiling, trying to order his thoughts.

“Who picks...” He stops and licks his lips, eyes still resolutely on the unmoving ceiling fan. “How do we change our crew?”

Abernathy is still leaning in the doorway, silent, when Issac steels himself enough to look over.

Issac gets absolutely nothing from him. It sparks a simmering anger he has no idea what to do with. This man told him nothing before his games. Sent him glitter and now expects, what? For Issac to crawl into the hole that he’s resigned himself too and pretend the games are not their lives now? That he does not need to tell Issac how to make these things work.

“Victor Affairs. Caesar Flickerman gets a say but his is not the only opinion.” Abernathy finally offers. “Mentors used to have a bit of leverage, but that went away during the 54th.”

Issac nods and focuses his gaze on the edge of the blue shirt, fisting it and letting the soft fabric wrinkle under his hands. “What do Mentors do? Beside the train ride and the dinners?”

“And calming down blondies from their panic attacks?” Abernathy sneers.

Issac swallows against something he refuses to name. “Fuck you.”

It comes out quiet. But Issac finds he means every word. So he says it again. “Fuck. you. How fucking dare you. Not every...”

“Kid.” Abernathy walks toward him and all Issac can suddenly see is how much bigger he is. His face so unreadable and so angry all at once and-

Issac does not punch him. Because Leon and Lynn have been working with him on that particular nasty habit, but it's a close thing. But he does snarl, lips stretching around his new teeth in a way he knows is terrifying.

Abernathy seems immune. The man merely blinks once before setting the bottle down on the already bottle scattered coffee table and reaching out to hook one hand around Issac’s neck. He tugs and Issac is surprised enough that he goes. He ends up with his forehead pressed to Abernathy’s own, sharing oddly heavy pants of air and smelling the stink of old liquor and rank sweat.

“Oh, Kid.” Abernathy says the words softly. “They all die.”

Issac closes his eyes. “I’m not dead. They aren’t yet.”

“Let me worry about that.” Abernathy’s voice seems to catch around an odd not in his voice.

Issac does not respond for a long moment. He finds his body shuffling closer without his permission until Abernathy’s free hand lands on his shoulders. Issac freezes, wary, but Abernathy merely strokes soothing lines across his upper back until Issac releases a breath he did not know he had been holding.

“I just want... I want to go back to what I was. I help kids.” Issac opens his eyes, but Abernathy has his closed. “Just... what about sponsors or... anything.”

“Give me till after the tour... I’ll... I’ll get something together.” Abernathy opens his grey eyes.

Issac flinches back and turns it into a roll off the couch to cover it. Why did everyone from the damn seam have Willow’s eyes? All soft and grey and terrified. Looking at the blood on him like its...

He slams back into his own house, chest heavy and goes back down to his gym. He works until he can’t move, staining the borrowed shirt with even more sweat and then curls up in a corner to sleep. Too worn out, muscles too sore, to manage the climb up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have time to comment, please do. Even crits are okay and even encouraged since I have no idea what I'm doing after multiple years not writting.


End file.
